


Five Times One Two Should Have Known About Bob (and One Time He Had No Doubt)

by enemyfrigate



Category: RocknRolla (2008)
Genre: Five Times, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-10
Updated: 2011-09-10
Packaged: 2017-10-23 14:34:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/251405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enemyfrigate/pseuds/enemyfrigate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One Two misses a lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times One Two Should Have Known About Bob (and One Time He Had No Doubt)

1)

Things look like they’re getting raucous, but this is one of Handsome Bob’s parties, and that’s what happens when Bob throws a bash.

One Two has lost track of his pals, but that’s alright, because he has a lovely dancer named Cherise tucked against his side. She’s American, she knows a little something about boxing, and she loves his accent. He has better things to think about than Bob and the boys.

But One Two has an instinct for trouble, and the girl isn’t enough to distract him when he notices something off.

There’s a bit of voices raised, that lull in talk where a couple of drunken bastards start feeling large and probably stop caring about their host’s furniture, and everyone else has to pause to wonder what’s going on.

“Excuse me, sweetheart,” One Two says, and frees himself to investigate.

He finds the trouble easily enough, the new bloke Bob had introduced him to, a big fella with big hands Bob met playing footie down the park, almost as tall as One Two himself, facing it off with one of Bob’s rally driving mates.

Bob steps in, then, but One Two doesn’t look at Bob, he keeps his eyes on the trouble. The new one, Alfie, flicks eyes to Bob, seems to relax a bit. Mike, the other one, looks angrier, almost.

“Downstairs, Alfie. You know the way,” Bob says, and One Two knows that tone. When Bob takes the trouble to give an order, you obey.

“Mike, a word,” Bob says. He takes him by the elbow and steers him to an empty corner. One Two doesn’t know what they’re saying, but Mike leans in close, right into Bob’s space, and One Two notices, like he’s forgotten, that Bob isn’t very big, but he’s around a lot of big men, like him, and Mumbles, and this Mike, and the banished Alfie.

Cherise slips in under his arm, and her tit pushes against One Two’s ribs, and he forgets all about it.

He only sees Alfie around a few times after that, and then Bob never mentions him again, and One Two, well, One Two forgets it all.

2)

The Wild Bunch prides itself on getting heists done, in and out, with the money or the valuables, and away clean. No one ever said anything about perfection, or style, or dignity.

One Two is willing to sell out a little dignity for half a million quid in emeralds any day.

Thing is, the courier they took the stones from has a few friends lingering about - and don’t think One Two won’t be having a talk with Mumbles about that little slip up - and here One Two is, stuck with Bob in a narrow old storage shed. It’s fuck all hot, since it’s August, and they’ve been running, and there’s bare enough room for both of them to stand upright.

Mumbles probably got away in the chase car, or One Two is hoping. The blokes after them haven’t gone away, so it’s a safe bet.

Somehow in the mad scramble between relieving the courier of the bag of stones and clearing the scene of the heist, Bob had swapped the stones into Mumbles’ pocket, just seconds before the courier and his mates had given chase. Bob had rabbited one way, One Two the other, and like loyal dogs everywhere, they had pursued the targets they were given.

Now they’re holed up here, not too far from the second chase car Bob had left for just this problem, and they’re stuck until dark.

It’s summer. Dark means hours yet.

One Two strips his soaked tee shirt off and stuffs it into the back pocket of his jeans. He doesn’t want to leave evidence laying about, but he’s too fucking hot to stand around in his own sweat.

They’ll have to fight if they *are* found. Luckily there are a few old bits of board about. Sheer bad luck that they ended up here, in a sense; they always try to stay mobile on a heist. Four or five vehicles stashed about sometimes, as they can’t take the tube or a bus or hail a cab. Too much evidence, too many cameras, too much notice.

Bob drags his own shirt off, crouches and reties his trainers. A shout from the back brings him to his feet, and he pivots into One Two’s space.

They listen, poised like greyhounds at the start, on notice to reach for the door and sprint.

One Two tugs Bob close, hand on his bicep, to talk against his cheek. “I’ll clear the way, you go for the motor. Come back and get me.”

Bob nods, tense, and they wait. They’re close enough together that One Two can feel Bob breathe.

By the time One Two’s count reaches two hundred, they’ve heard nothing else. Handsome Bob shifts back, body striped with shadow, his breaths coming artificially even. The little bit of sun they’re getting slants across Bob’s face, showing a slightly reddened cheek.

The heat in here might be a problem. One Two needs to keep an eye on him.

Silence pervades the street.

Bob steps back a little, putting air between them. Adjusts his cock in his jeans. One Two barely notes it. They’re all blokes together, and after all these years, they’ve few physical boundaries.

After a quarter of an hour of nothing, Bob starts up a barrage of footie talk, and they keep it up until the sun goes down and they can free themselves from their impromptu prison.

3)

Handsome Bob shows at the Speeler late one afternoon with a bruised face, a massive black eye, and a limp.

Bob drops into a seat at his regular table. Dolly brings him a cuppa and a packet of paracetamol without being asked.

Mumbles looks him over. “Have a good night, Handsome?”

“You’ve no idea,” Handsome Bob says.

It’s not that unusual for one of them to walk in showing the evidence of a dust-up, though Bob had said he was going out to a club, on the hunt, or so he‘d told One Two. Not even Bob gets into a deliberate fight when he’s on the pull.

“I bet the other bloke looks worse,” One Two says. He shakes the Sun open, flips past the news - apparently last night there was a bit of a set-to in Vauxhall over some queer bloke roughed up by some straight boys - and finds the sport reports.

“Some of them,” Bob says. “Deal me in, Mumbles.”

 

4)

One Two is a handsome bloke, he knows this. He’s big and he’s got muscles and he knows just when to smile at a girl, when to mock himself, when to lean in. He doesn’t always get the girls he wants, but that’s life, right?

But he’s got nothing on Handsome Bob, who pulls girl after girl after girl, with his sweet smile, the way he‘s actually interested in what they have to say, the shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, showing the edges of his tattoos. Sometimes he has groups of them crowded around.

None of his girlfriends last. A few have sought One Two out as things start to go south, and asked for advice, but there’s not much One Two can do when Bob’s attention starts wandering. He mostly pats them on the shoulder and tells them, sorry, love, that’s just the way he is.

Gabriella might just stick, though. Six weeks and she’s still got Bob’s attention. Doesn’t hurt she knows about cars and footie and never tries to get him to wear a tie or eat expensive French food. She’d rather have a pint than a martini and she even likes a bit of a flutter on the dogs.

Sometimes One Two wishes he’d met her first.

Six weeks becomes three months.

Bob picks up a cold or something and the boys kick him out of the Speeler for the duration.

Mumbles throws out the current deck of cards and opens a whole new one. Dolly goes about bleaching doors and things Handsome Bob might have touched. Bob never gets sick. Everyone reckons he must have some kind of killer alien plague, and no one else wants it.

After two days, the boys appoint One Two to make sure Handsome Bob’s still alive and take him his footie winnings.

One Two runs into Gabriella at the door to Bob’s flat. She‘d been about to knock, and she doesn‘t seem all that happy to see him.

“Thought you’d be here night and day,” One Two says, taking out his key.

“He told me to stay away, actually, and let him die in peace.”

“That might be the best policy. Handsome isn’t too fond of company when he’s unwell.”

“Tough,” Gabriella says.

One Two grins, and holds the door open for her. “That’s the ticket.”

Bob shuffles into the bedroom doorway. He’s wrapped in a duvet. He shivers. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“For fuck’s sake sit down.” One Two goes over and gets him by the arm, walks him to the sofa.

Bob goes quietly, and sits like his legs have just given out. “I could murder a cup of tea.”

Gabriella goes to Bob and One Two takes himself off to the kitchen to put the kettle on. He goes back into the living room to ask Gabriella if she’d like a cup.

“S’alright,” Bob is saying. “One Two’s here. You can take off, okay?”

“You’d rather he looked after you than me, am I right? I’ll never rate while he’s around,” Gabriella says.

“That‘s not true,” Bob says. He rubs his forehead like he‘s hurting. “He‘s my best mate. He‘s already seen me at my worst. That’s all. You don‘t want to see me like this, right? Not much fun for you.”

Gabriella shakes her head. “You check your phone for his texts before you even piss in the morning.”

“We work together,” Bob says.

One Two ducks back into the kitchen. He has a policy to never get in the middle of domestic drama. He still can’t avoid hearing what she says next, though.

“You’re wearing his track pants and sweatshirt to sleep in,” Gabriella says.

So that’s where the blue ones had got to. One Two had thought he’d tossed them in the laundry at the gym.

The kettle boils and One Two fixes Bob’s brew, almost as black as coffee, just like he likes it.

The door is closing behind Gabriella as One Two comes into the room.

Bob takes the tea, but One Two has to steady his hand.

“Thanks,” Bob says. “Looks like I’m on the market again.”

“Plenty more sheep in the field, mate.”

“Not looking for a sheep. Think a wolf is more my style,” Bob says, then ruins the line by coughing.

One Two sits down next to Bob and switches on the telly.

Bob falls asleep in the middle of an episode of Top Gear.

One Two rescues Bob’s mug, sets it aside, and gets comfortable. He’ll be here awhile.

Bob‘s girls might not stick around, but he always has One Two.

 

5)

The crack of gunshots bang off the old warehouses. One Two can’t really hear where they came from, but since they’re most likely shooting at him, it seems like a silly thing to worry about.

Getting under cover seems a bit more practical. He should be able to lose himself somewhere in this maze of crumbling brick and rotting wood. There, a falling apart half-wall. That should do.

Boosting cash from other criminals is always risky. They’ve done it before, it always comes right, and One Two trusts Mumbles and Handsome Bob to handle their end and get him out of here.

Really. Soon.

Any time now, fellas.

He hopes that they don’t leave him hanging here just to teach him a lesson.

They won’t have forgotten that this was his idea and that neither had liked it. Mumbles had told him no, flat out, and Bob had just shaken his head, but he’s been doing this for a long time now, and One Two is really not overconfident. He doesn’t want to die and he doesn’t want to go back to prison.

But what’s wrong with a little bit of theatricality, sometimes? A bit of style?

What’s wrong with it this time is that he overplayed his hand, they broke his bluff apart, and began to make a spirited attempt to free all his blood from his body.

But the boys won’t be able to tell him off if he dies here, so One Two figures that they’ll at least try to get him back.

Smoke rises from nearby in the maze, then again, and something shatters.

The air around One Two shivers, and there’s a muffled boom - a car fire and an explosion as the final touch, one of Handsome Bob’s tricks.

The shots slow down, and One Two only has to worry about half the missiles whizzing through the air that he did before.

Things are looking up.

One Two eases from his crouch and slo mo’s a look over the ruined brick wall.

Something shatters in the cracked and holed warehouse opposite, followed by a pained yell. A man in a black tracksuit tries to duck-run across the alleyway from the opposite ruin. He’s got a gun in each hand. One Two throws himself over the wall, stumbles into a run.

Someone on his side is in there and none of them arm themselves for gunfights.

One Two doesn’t reach the gunman.

Handsome Bob does. He launches from the roof like an attacking hawk, strikes the gunman with his full weight, and takes him to the paving.

A bullet streaks past One Two’s ear, froze there in the middle of the alley, and he throws himself flat.

Bob wrestles with the gunman, rips one gun free and casts it away. The gunman heaves him over. Bob rolls, then staggers up, blood showing on his bare ribs under the open sweatshirt.

Shots crack out again, pinning One Two against the scant cover of the paving just as he’s shoving up to join in the mayhem.

Bob doesn’t even flinch. He catches the gunman behind the knee and sends him back down, then he lifts his foot and smashes his trainer against the gunman’s face, once, twice, three times, mouth twisted.

“Get down, you idiot!”

One Two propels himself across the open space to Bob’s side. Handsome’s got the gunman’s remaining weapon, but they don’t have time to put out any covering fire before the remaining shooter targets Bob again. One Two crashes into him, bears him down to the broken paving as the next volley starts.

“Fancy meeting you here,” One Two says.

Bob throws him an angry look over his shoulder, from where he’s twisted under One Two. “You ready to get out of here, then?”

One Two nods and pushes to his feet.

There’s another crash - Mumbles on the job - and then Bob yells, “Go,” and they run.

Later, when One Two is sitting in the quiet of his own house, with a bag of ice held to his face, he wonders just why Handsome Bob had hauled off and hit him when they got home and safe.

 

EPILOGUE

So Handsome Bob’s been queer for awhile now. Well, for all his life, really, but to One Two, it’s not even been a year.

One Two’s alright with Bob liking blokes. He’s still not alright with himself for being so blind stupid, and he‘s not too pleased that everyone made sure to keep him in the dark, but he‘s leaving that behind. Now he knows, sees his best mate clear, and that’s not a bad thing.

He’s not sure how he feels about the thoughts he’s been having, the last few months, though.

The Wild Bunch is back to normal, after the wild few days of last summer. They’re very well off, their rep is even better in the criminal world, and the real estate business is starting to creak into motion.

Things are going the way he wants, professionally, but personally, well. He’s got Handsome Bob on his mind.

The last few months, One Two has had some sleepless nights. Sometimes he sprawls awake, turning his options over and over - let it go or reach out - thoughts weaving back and forth from pro to con without stopping, without resolving.

Some nights, it’s just One Two thinking of Bob with his cock in his hand.

Either way, he’s not getting much sleep.

One Two doesn’t much hesitate. It’s not in his nature.

But One Two also knows how to bide his time and wait for the right moment.

At some point, his gut will tell him what to do about this Bob obsession.

But he’s fucked if he knows just what.

 

Misty spring night, and One Two hasn’t any plans for it. Can’t sit still, though, and none of the usual clubs or bars appeal. He goes round Bob’s, to see if he wants to get out of town and burn up the roads in one of those old sports cars he’s always got in some stage of repair, or go out to some punk club and start a fight.

One of those nights.

Handsome Bob is already getting into a cab when One Two turns onto his street. He’s got on a new shirt. And he’s shaved.

Fuck. Bob’s not going to want company when he’s going out on the prowl.

But One Two doesn’t stop himself from following.

Just like he doesn’t stop himself from watching Bob go into a pub that appears to cater solely to men, and then parking the Rover down the block a bit.

A half hour and One Two isn’t waiting any more. Not for anything. Door open, slam it shut, beep it locked, stride down to the pub.

The pub is crowded with men, talking, up against each other, kissing, playing darts. One Two ignores the looks thrown his way, scanning for his target.

Handsome Bob is stood against the bar, a hard muscled bloke already settled in the crook of his arm. Bob drinks from a whiskey glass while his conquest mouths at his neck, and his hand drifts down Bob’s flat stomach, toward his belt.

One Two pushes in among the men at the bar, weaves his way to Bob’s elbow.

“Sorry to break in, but this one’s mine.” One Two drops his fingers on the back of Bob’s neck.

Bob goes still, angles away from the bloke at his side and faces One Two. His look is serious, considering. His voice low. “I am?”

“I hope so,” One Two says. “If you’ll have me.”

“Sorry, mate,” Bob throws over his shoulder, and turns fully into One Two, takes hold of his wrist. “You mean it? If you’re not sure --”

“I’m sure, Bobby-boy.”

Bob’s mouth broadens into a smile, the genuine one he saves for One Two. “What took you so long?”

One Two tips his head down, brings their mouths together.

The kiss is gentle, really, sweet. One Two feels his heartbeat slow, his breathing steady, under the warm pressure of Bob‘s lips.

He draws back just far enough to speak, gives Bob a crooked grin.

“I just had to open my eyes.”


End file.
